Into The Wild
by Hostile Hobnob
Summary: (FTM) Trans!Quinn loves the outdoors, and the peaceful nature of it. Cisgendered!Rachel has a habit of admiring Quinn from afar. Faberry endgame. TW: Transphobia, slight misgendering. Corrected/edited Reboot of my old fic, Venturing Unkown.
1. Precalculus Sucks

**AN: hey hey hey! I've had this plot in my head for a while, and I've been itching to try my hand at it. IT WILL CONTAIN ENDGAME FABERRY, TRANS!QUINN, PANSEXUAL!RACHEL AND AN AU INVOLVING NO BABYGATE AND OUTDOORSY N LIBERAL FABRAY PARENTS AS WELL AS NON-GLEE-SINGER!QUINN****. I have experience in both areas, being trans and pan. If you have any questions about gender or sexuality, I will be glad to help. Quinn's gender identity will be explorered in later chapters, but for now, they are referred to in gender neutral pronouns (they/their/them). I apologies for misgendering on Rachel's part, she just doesn't know yet. But trust me, Rach will be fully supportive. If those are not your thing, please do not read on. But without further ado... Into The Wild!**

Simply put, Quinn was bored to death. Pre Calc was at the end of the day, and combining the rowdy class, insufferable teacher and end of the day sickness, the course was already doomed for failure. Factoring in Quinn's distaste for the subject, it might as well been an hour and a half nap time or daydreaming session. In fact, Quinn used it as such, along with their many other peers.

Today, Quinn was dreaming about the woods. The chunk of land owned by the town that they refused to bulldoze because it added 'natural charm' and brought in backpackers and backwoods campers. Lima was a small town, and took any income it could get. Quinn can hear and picture the birds singing little call and response tunes between each other, the buzzing of the insects and the trickling of the crystal clear creek; Quinn loved every bit of it. Since Quinn didn't have any appointments to play guitar for the glee clubbers, the blonde could head straight for the woods. Gosh, Quinn couldn't wait to get out of this freaking class and back out to nature, where they belonged.

It wasn't that Quinn was disrespectful, or hated the subject. Quinn fully understood how crucial math was to everyday life, they just didn't grasp it very well. Quinn's foundation came from nature. Quinn knew what to do when something wants to eat you, or how to make a smokeless fire or any edible plant found in Ohio, but Quinn didn't know where math factored in at all. Why would you need math to identify poison oak or to make a shelter out of saplings and ferns? Quinn spoke in survival and in the moment experience whereas the rest of the world spoke in money and possesions and future planning. Those two worlds can never marry. Besides, there was something between the blonde and the wilderness that nobody could deny. Quinn's heart was the pulse of the forest and their arms and legs were extensions of the forest around them. Quinn had a deep seated connection with the earth that could never be broken. But even when they were in the woods, surrounded by hundreds of their best friends, Quinn still longs to share this magic with someone. To share their love with someone.

**_BRIIIIIIIING_**

The end-of-the-day bell was music to the blonde's ears. Quinn slung the worn grey Herschel Supply bag that had gone on many a expedition and was sun-bleached and ripped over their shoulder and was out the door before anyone even noticed. No one ever notices Quinn, anyways. Except for a brunette with a penchant for argyle and sweaters and a very, very loud voice.

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><p><em><strong>Rachel<strong>_

I stared dreamily at Quinn as she left. God, she was gorgeous. With that messy blonde quiff a la Beckham and those hazel eyes, I was in love from the moment I laid my eyes on her freshman year. I was already in my seat on the first day of school in our English class, when she walks in with this incredibly, incredibly attractive haircut and not to mention the absolutely adorable navy blue Christmas-esque sweater under the army green canvas jacket and then the tie and the tan oxfords along with it... The outfit was a masterpiece. Dare I say her sweater rivaled mine, a black knit with white reindeer? She was perfect.

And totally, totally unattainable. Why would a specimin as refined as her go out with the dorky Jewish girl with an abnormally large nose? No reason at all. But as the year wore on I realized my dream date has yet to become popular. Why not? She's pretty, no handsome suits her better, and funny (I think). And then that in turn made me wonder why we hadn't become friends. I mean, yes she's really quiet and all and we don't talk very much, but I always see her around because she plays guitar for glee. But why hadnt we become friends? Another mystery the world fails to tell me, like the turning point for my immenent stardom. But we are sort of... Aquantiances. So it isn't creepy to stare at her. Not at all. Anyways, that's another virtue of Quinn, guitar playing. Her talent is definitely up to par for me to date her. I just hope she can sing. Then we could do love duets and she could serenade me and god it would all be so amazing. Granted, her status on the social food chain would do absolutely nothing for a loser like me, but it would be soooo worth it. Anyone would be lucky to be able to run their fingers through that gorgeous blonde hair and those impossibly deep hazel eyes.

Just when you think Quinn couldn't get any better, she can. Her sense of style stayed impeccable, just as good as the first day of freshman year. Quinn manages to pull of her dapper vintage woodsman explorer look with ease. Quinn can pair bowties with Christmas sweaters and parkas with oxfords and manage to look sexy, refined and worldly all at the same time. Besides, the muted tones and subtle patterns in her clothing definitely won't clash with my extensive argyle and animal sweater collection, which is yet another check in the Rachel Berry Perfect Boy/Girl/Special Friend checklist. And before you ask, yes, I am pansexual. I'm attracted to people, and gender isn't really a factor. I will admit that I have a certain affinity for men, but I would never rule out a relationship with a girl, or a nonbinary person.

Anyways, after realizing that I myself needed to get going home and not stay starstruck at my desk, I stumbled out of the classroom in a haze. I'm always like that after I think about Quinn. And I'll have to be honest, she kind of turns me on. But in the best way possible, of course. Not profane or obscene at all. Not at all.

As I stride down the hallway, I'm really thankful no one slushies at the end of the day, because I would hate for this outfit to be ruined. I made it through today without a corn syrup facial, and I'd like to continue the streak. I wonder if Quinn ever gets slushied. She never attracts attention to herself, but she's always sort of there. Tipping the incoming slushy back into the aggressors face, then darting off before anyone sees who it was or happening to "drop" a small bottle of stain remover into the hands of a victim, Quinn was always thinking of others. That's another thing I love about her. How selfless she seems. I hope she's as selfless as she appears.

Luckily, I made it out to my bike before Karofsky or any other jocks decided it was Pick On Rachel Berry Day. Sweeping my eyes around the bike lot, checking for any hiding jocks, I notice Quinn unlocking a bike of her own. It was a black mountain bike that looked sufficiently mucked up around the chassis and in the spokes. She used it well, much like everything else she owned. It was the sign of a waste conscious person. My daddies will _love_ her.

I gave Quinn a tentative smile, and in return, she blushed and returned the gesture. Okay, I died a little inside. I made Quinn Fabray, of all people, blush! Me! Rachel Berry, resident nerd and Glee club captain made Quinn Fabray, dashingly handsome guitarist blush! Maybe she likes me back. Oh my god, I think she likes me back. Before I can strike up a conversation with my impeccable social skills filled with witty remarks and well hidden flirting, Quinn is already biking away. Shoot. Hopping on my transportation, I ride off, hoping I can catch up to the blonde, already meters ahead. I figure actually talking to her instead of fantasizing about us together will be beneficial to our budding relationship.

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><p><strong>AN: First chapter done! We got a glimpse of Quinn's love for nature and seven paragraphs of Rachel fangirling over Quinn. Whaddaya think? Okay? Not okay? Comment your thoughts and ideas, I'd love too hear them. Thank you so much for reading my craziness. I'd like to shoutout to Hal, Tonja, Mikey, MK, Katie, Char and Matt for being awesome people, the inspiration for this story, and helping me connect to nature in a way I've never felt before. <strong>


	2. Into The Woods

**AN: Two chapters in one day! I'm on a roll! I love writing this, and tapping into my inner tracker as well as reliving some memories with some of my hiking buddies listed on last chapters AN. I picture Quinn's hair to be something close to the famous David Beckham Quiff. In this chapter you will find actual Faberry moments, reminiscing about slugs eating leaves and a little bit of angsty Rachel. You'll also get hints of my AU, with Quinn's parents being kinda hippie ish, but more in the Tom Brown Jr, Tracker way than peace signs and tie dye. It only mentions Russel, but I assure you he will never be a jerk. This story will get angsty enough soon. Now, I give you, chapter two!**

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><p>Quinn was sufficiently toasty by the time they had gotten to the Fabray residence. Since it was late October, Lima has started to cool down, leaving strenuous afternoon bike rides toasty at the warmest. Quinn was forever grateful for this weather. Perfect sitspot weather as well. Quinn decided a sitspot was their course of action for the afternoon. But no sooner did Quinn roll the bike up to its spot on the Fabray front porch did a certain brunette show up.<p>

"Hello, Quinn Fabray?" she asks in a tentative tone.

"That would be me." Quinn replies softly, the undertones reaching into a resonating chest voice frequency. Quinn smiled inside when they heard their voice do this. Quinn loved the husky range of their voice.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rachel Berry, president of the Glee club and lead female vocalist." Rachel sounded very matter-of-fact and so much more sure of herself than the feeble sentence she had croaked out before. Quinn thought that it was kind of sexy, that type of confidence. Their face heated up when their thoughts drifted into non-platonic range. Sam as Rocky, Sam as Rocky, Quinn repeated over and over internally, desperately trying to chastise themself.

"Pleasure to properly meet you, Rachel Berry. I don't mean to be rude, but why are you at my house?"

Rachel looked down at her feet. "Oh if you're busy I'll go away. But I was thinking maybe we could, you know, hang out. I would love to get to know you better." Quinn didn't understand why Rachel seemed flustered. She was a gorgeous, kind and talented girl. Sure she was somewhat egotistical and a little self centered, but Quinn didn't see how they were making her feel nervous at all. Quinn was a nobody, after all.

"No, I'm not busy at all. You can stay for as long as you like, my parents won't mind." Quinn replied casually, attempting to calm Rachel.

"Wonderful. I am ecstatic about spending time with you." The girl was either overconfident or extremely bashful; she had no middle. Quinn thinks she must be like this all the time. Go big or go home. Quinn finds this quality endearing, not awkward.

"So I was planning on doing a sitspot out by the creek, but now you're here and sitspots don't work well for two people so um, let's go take a little hike, okay?" Quinn sounds awkward. Damn. Stop rambling, Quinn tells their brain.

"Lead the way, Captain!" Rachel giggled as Quinn playfully took her hand and tugged her towards the treeline. Quinn was really happy that Rachel showed up. And who knows, maybe somebody out there answered their wish for someone more than a friend.

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><p><em><strong>Rachel<strong>_

Okay, Quinn is holding my hand. Oh god, Quinn is holding my hand. Holymotherofmaryjesus quinnisholdingmyhand. Play it cool, Rachel. Talk. Maybe ask about that other activity she was planning. What was it, a sitspot? Yes, a sitspot. Good work, brain.

"Hey Quinn," I started as we carefully stalked across a fallen tree, "what's a sitspot? I heard you were planning on one earlier and it sounded interesting, so yeah." Pathetic, just pathetic, Berry. I've got to step up my game or else she might think I'm a bigger dork than she already knows.

"A sitspot is a session of listening. Essentially, you pick out a place in the forest. This is your sitspot. You'll come to that spot, and just that spot and listen. Watch the forest around you. Wait for the forest to return back to normal, before you disrupted it and see what it's like. See what you miss when you're out here making tons of noise and disrupting the natural flow. I've seen some remarkable things, Berry. Beautiful things." Okay, Quinn just got a thousand times more attractive. Her way with words is simply breathtaking. Just, wow, I wish I could talk like that.

"Would you mind showing me your spot?" I ask as we pass a tree with light grey coloring and a sparse covering of lichen.

"Not at all." Wordlessly, Quinn spins around in a different direction and takes off in nearly silent footsteps. She probably knows this forest like the back of her hand. Her connection to the land is definitely a beautiful thing.

I could never do what she does. The care that she puts into not trampling shrubbery or the seemingly impossible silence of her brown leather chukkas among soil and sticks. I can barely make it down the hall without tripping over my own feet. Quinn has a fluidity to her movements. It is almost dancerlike, but it has a different quality to it. Strength, I think. Dancing is about being light and graceful, using your body to portray feelings and emotions inexpressible otherwise. Quinn is different. All the grace and control of a dancer is there but it is also strong. She moves with a direction and a purpose, instead of emotion and feeling. A dancer is a swan, whereas Quinn is a jungle cat. I could watch her move all day and never get tired of it. Even if it wasn't set to music.

"Here we are!" Quinn announced as we arrive to a seemingly random spot amongst the trees. The only distinguishing characteristics of this area is a medium sized stump, big enough for a person to sit on.

"It looks..." I start, grasping for words,

"Ordinary." she completes my sentence. Adorable, yet again, "I know. It's supposed to be that way."

"How did you choose your sitspot? How is it a special place you can sit here for hours and somehow be entertained by the forest around you?" I inquire, sitting in the process.

"Well, my parents, who by the way are basically just like me about nature, decided that, at age thirteen that I needed a sitspot of my own. By then, I was pretty well versed in the woods. But, I still wasn't able to navigate this area as well as now. So my dad, Russell says, 'Kid, tonight you're gonna choose your spot. This'll be your special spot, and your spot only. You'll use it year after year and soon it will feel like a second home. Magical things happen here, Quinn.' I nodded and told him I was ready. So he sent me out at sunset in the forest, no flashlight, and no shoes on my own to find my spot."

"Is he crazy? You could've gotten lost, or died!" I exclaimed. What parent would put their child at such risks?

"Calm, Rach. I would've been fine. I knew how to make shelter and find food, even if I did get lost I was going to be okay." Quinn reassured me, but I still wasn't completely taken with the idea. I put on my pouty face while she continued,

"So as I was saying, he sent me out. But before I left he told me 'Don't look for it. You'll know when you find it. It will come to you'. And so I left. My directions were to find a sitspot, participate in a sitspot and make it back home by the time they shouted for me which was roughly four hours. So I went on my way. At first, with the light, it was easy to walk through the forest. But as night grew on, it got harder and harder and I slowed down.

Finally, it was almost pitch black. I hadn't found a "good" spot, which was preferably by the stream and surrounded by shrubbery. At this point, I had kind of given up. I had felt around to find a sitting stump and I plopped down. I thought I had the worst luck possible. Not a great sitspot, itchy bugs and cut up feet. But I still sat there. For about an hour and a half. Nothing happened, or at least so I thought.

At the very end, when I was just about to get up, I heard something. A little clicking noise. Like the sound of two fingernails scraping together. And in the little ray of moonlight beside me, I saw a slug munching on a leaf. I heard a freaking slug eating a freaking leaf. Overjoyed, I ran back home and reported my expedition. And here we are now, in that very spot that little-Quinn stumbled across in the night." Quinn smiled at me and I felt myself melt. I could feel her connection with this stump in her words and how reverently she sat beside me. It had history. It has probably spent years listening to hopes and dreams and woes and silence.

"Wow. That's incredible. Not just the story, but the connection you hold to the earth. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." I finally spill out.

"Thanks. I prefer handsome, though." She replies, sending me a cheeky gin that sends shivers down my spine. "And yeah, the earth is amazing. It gives us life and health and everything we are. The least we can do is repay it by respecting it."

"I'm a vegan for that reason. It's partly religious, but it's also out of respect for life. I honor the sacrifice cows go through make milk for not us, but for their calves. And I think it's not right to take that from them." I confess to her. Her face is settled into 'thinking mode'. Her brows are raised and her mouth is slightly pursed.

"I admire your vegan ism and stance on it. I however, love bacon too much to convert." Quinn breaks out into a laugh and I playfully punch her on the shoulder.

"You evil meat eater, you!" I manage to sputter out in between waves of laughter. We're probably disturbing the forest, but I'm having way too much fun to consider that.

"Goddamn, Berry! I don't have an insult for being vegan! I admire you too damn much!" Quinn's voice breaks into her upper range, which I've never heard before. It still retains the resonating quality that her normal voice has, but it is primarily dictated by the upper tones. It sounds magnificent. She sounds magnificent.

"I'm sorry, Quinn, but not everyone can be as perfect as me. You'll just have to accept that you will never find a sufficient insult to suit and individual as flawless as me." I have no idea how I kept a straight face during that. All I know is that I about died of the laughter afterwards.

"I guess I won't, Miss Berry. Maybe you'll just have to join me on another occasion to make sure I really can't find one." Quinn asks this in her sultry low tone. Oh, if she knew what her voice did to me.

"I guess I might, Miss Fabray." As soon as the sentence finishes, she frowns. Did I do something wrong? Does she not want to hang out? What?

"Um, Rachel. It's getting kind of late. Maybe you should go. Your parents are probably wondering where you are. I can lead you back. I'll... I'll tell you when we can do this again in school sometime. Okay?"

"Okay."

All I can think on the trek back is what I might've done wrong.

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><p><strong>AN: The sitspot story is very very true, and it belongs to my very very cool friend Mikey who makes his own sandals and owns a shirt that reads "Dirt lovin, nature worshipin, TREEHUGER". Thank you for allowing me to share your story. <strong>


	3. Put The T in LGBT

**AN: IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY GENDER DYSPHORIA PLEASE DO NOT READ THE PORTION FROM QUINN's POV. Anyways, it was really hard to write, because it resonates with me so deeply, although that isn't an excuse for a short chapter. In this chapter we will get a glimpse of Quinn's dysphoria, Rachel's pity party complete with Streissand and ice cream, Ms. Pillsbury's infamous pamphlets, father son bonding over angsty trans feels, and a dashingly dapper n chivalrous Quinn! Have ****fun/****angsty time reading chapter 3!**

**Again, **

_**IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY GENDER DYSPHORIA PLEASE DO NOT READ THE PORTION FROM QUINN's POV.**_

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><p>Quinn returns to their sitspot. They need to clear their head and think. Sighing, Quinn puts their head in between their knees,<p>

"What have I done?" Quinn mutters. Quinn feels awful for sending Rachel away, but Quinn feels equally awful at the 'Miss'. Why did Rachel's insignificant comment bother Quinn? It's what Quinn is, after all, why they are so bugged by it, they don't know. It's just a comment. It's just a comment. It's just a comment. Quinn repeats that over and over in their head. Maybe if they say it enough, it'll be true.

Quinn has never been comfortable within the stereotypical female world. Quinn always leaned towards the masculine side of life, from their clothing to their mannerisms. Sometimes, they would be perceived as male by distant friends of their parents. But whenever Quinn's mom corrected them saying,

"No she's 100% girl, isn't that right Quinnie?" and Quinn would just stand and nod. It felt foreign and wrong, to be labeled as a female. Like something wasn't adding up quite right. So in the sanction of their own mind, Quinn explored gender neutrality. Neither nor. But some days, even they isn't enough to get Quinn by. It scares the living hell out of Quinn to go further. What if one day they push their gender? Call themself male. And what if it feels right? So completely and utterly right that it would break Quinn to hear the wrong gender every day, all around them? That it would break them to see the soft, round breasts perched on their chest like cancerous blobs? That it would kill them to see curves and big cheeks and soft skin and hairless legs in the mirror? Sometimes Quinn can't see the upside anywhere to anything. So Quinn goes along, not feeling nonbinary, rather something very binary, but too scared to voice their opinion. It seems like every day goes like this. And maybe every day will go like this. But would Quinn ever be able to live with themself if no one even knew the real Quinn?

This is why Quinn likes the forest. It doesn't care if you're male or female or if your parts match your gender or even if you have parts. It doesn't matter if you're tall and thin or short and fat. It doesn't recognize the struggles you go through daily. All that matters in nature is the simple hierarchy of one thing eating another to survive. And in ways, Quinn is a lot like the forest. Restless, yet calm. Orderly, yet chaotic. Quinn thrives on the simplicity of life and clear direction. When Quinn is in the forest, the world is forgotten and the only thing that matters is the space ten yards in front, behind and around Quinn.

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><p><em><strong>RACHEL<strong>_

I am laying on my bed, crying my guts out.

"W-w-what did I d-do wrooong?" I choke out through sobs and frequent nose blows. I really thought it was going well. I really thought I was doing well.

Think, Berry think. If you're going to figure out why you are watching Funny Girl for the billionth time and eating vegan ice cream while you use up box after box of tissues, you need to retrace your steps. What did you say during the, um, not-sort-of-date that upset her? You called her beautiful, in which she replied to use handsome. And then you called her miss Fabray... Hey! Could it be true? Could Quinn feel transgender? I HAVE to talk to Miss Pillsbury tomorrow. Quinn's happiness and sanity depends on it!

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><p>"So, Rachel, what did you want to talk to me about?" Miss Pillsbury asks me politely, while squirting more hand sanitizer onto her already perfectly sanitized glove-covered hands.<p>

"Miss Pillsbury... Wh are you sanitizing, erm, gloves?"

"Flu season, Rachel! The germs are everywhere!" she replies frantically.

Well then.

"Sorry, dear. What was it you were going to say?"

"I... I'm concerned for... A friend. I think they may be transgender." That was a lot easier than I expected. Admitting my worry for Quinn, that is.

"What makes you think that?" Miss Pillsbury is sitting in her listening pose, far forward on her chair with hands clasped together and resting on her desk.

"Well, we were together and I call them beautiful and they automatically request me to use handsome. And then later on, I called them miss and they just kind of shut down. I got asked to leave, and I believe it was because I caused some sort of dysphoric reaction. I feel awful. " Miss Pillsbury nods her head, taking in the information thoughtfully.

"I see. I do believe your suspicions are correct, however confronting them full on is probably not the best idea. I do have some pamphlets here though. That would be a less... Forward approach and would definitely be more comfortable for whoever he is." Miss Pillsbury produces a few pamphlets from her desk and hands them to me.

Put the T in LGBT. So You Think You Are Trans? What Makes A REAL Man, Anyways?

"Thank you so much Miss Pillsbury. These pamphlets are cheesy, charming and functional all at the same time. I think these will help him a lot." I flash my Grammy award acceptance smile at her and then get up to leave, but Miss Pillsbury stops me,

"Rachel, tell your friend I am proud of him. He is whoever he is or whoever he identifies as. And I would love to talk to him, if he is okay with that."

"Sure thing, Miss Pillsbury."

"Bye Rachel." she calls cheerily after me.

After I exit her office, I take a deep breath, and make my way to Quinn's locker.

When I arrive, Quinn is pulling a few of her, I mean his textbooks out of his locker. I tap him on the shoulder, which prompts him to spin to face me.

"Hey Quinn."

"Hi Rachel." I smile at him, because he seems tense. I hope this signals that I forgive him. Now that I know what he is going through, I don't feel bad at all for him telling me to leave.

"I forgive you for yesterday, Quinn. It's okay. But, I think that you ought to honor your promises and take me to dinner tonight. Is that okay?" I hope I'm not being too forward. Please say yes, please say yes.

"Thank you for forgiving me. And yes, I'll take you to Breadstix with you tonight. I'll even be the perfect gentle... I'll have the perfect manners and pick you up. Is five thirty good?" Hmm, he had some aversion to the word gentleman. Maybe his gender is more complicated than I thought. Time for plan b.

"Great see you then. Oh, Miss Pillsbury asked me to give you these pamphlets," I stash the pamphlets in his open bag before he could see the titles, "she said to not read them until you get home. I care about you, Quinn. Please know that." With that, I go on my tiptoes to reach the extra few inches to kiss his cheek. I could feel his cheeks blushing under my lips.

"Bye Quinn."

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><p>Quinn paced their room nervously. The brochures or pamphlets or whatever Rachel have them were sitting on their bed. Damnit. Another thing to add to the list of disasters in Quinn's recent life. Along with befriending Rachel Berry. Why did she have to be so beautiful and talented and totally friendly? Why did Quinn have to expose themself to her so much that she actually guessed their biggest secret?<p>

_Knock knock knock_

"Hey kid, can I come in?" Quinn's dad's head pops through the cracked open door.

"Sure Dad." Quinn sounded a little resigned, like they had kind of given up.

"Your mother and I can hear the pacing downstairs. It's shaking the tea cabinet."

"Sorry."

Russell's body language changed immediately, into a more comforting mode, "Hey, Quinn, it's okay. You don't have to be sorry for anything." Quinn smiled, "but as your dad, it's my job to ask if everything is okay. Is it, Quinn?" Shit. The pamphlets. Quinn knew Russell would eventually see them. Shit. What was Quinn going to do? They glanced over to the pile strewn across the bed beside them. Russell followed the gaze. Damnit.

"Quinn... Do you feel... Are you... Do you feel male?" Russell spoke slowly, stumbling over his words.

In response, all Quinn did was break down in his father's arms.

"Hey, buddy, it'll be okay. We'll get through this. Together. As a family." Russell comforted Quinn.

In both of their hearts, hidden deep under sorrow and history and angst, was acceptance.

Quinn knew he was going to be okay.

"Now, I hear you've got a date tonight, son. Go make yourself handsome."

"Bye Dad."

Quinn felt the weight of the world finally lift off of _**his**_ shoulders.

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><p><em><strong>RACHEL<strong>_

Why is it when a date really counts, you have nothing to wear? Suddenly, animal sweaters and flats don't seem nearly good enough for the momentus occasion that is Quinn and I's date tonight. I flop down on my bed in utter annoyance. Why can't I be more fashionable like Kurt, or more sexy like Santana? I'm just plain old me with plain brown hair and plain brown eyes and an abnormally large schnoz for a teenage girl. But then again, Quinn would've never asked me out in the first place if he wanted me to change. Quinn Fabray likes me for me, and I should'nt change myself. With this in mind, I select my most 'Rachel Berry' date outfit I can think of. Forest green dress with dark tights and flats. 100% me. I don a light dusting of makeup, being careful not to overdo it. It was a date, after all, not a fashion show.

"Honey, Quinn is here!" My daddy calls from downstairs.

With one final twirl in front of my mirror anstraight evening of my socks height, I walk downstairs to greet my Prince Charming.

All I can say is wow. Quinn is stunning.

He went all out with a dark blue velvet suit and tweed bow tie. His hair is expertly slicked back in a very clean cut manner. He clutches a single gardenia in a hand. Wow. Quinn truly is my dream date, he even remembered my favourite flower from maybe five short mentions in Glee club.

"Rachel, you look gorgeous." He exclaims in a breathy tone.

"You look amazing yourself, Mister Fabray." I reply. The mister brings a smile to his face. He's so, so handsome when he smiles. I don't want to live in a world without Quinn smiling.

"Here, this is for you." Quinn offers the gardenia, which Daddy runs to put in a vase.

"Thank you, it's beautiful. I'm amazed that you know my favorite flower. I don't think anyone else even remembers me talking about it."

"Well, I tend to hear things that other people don't." Quinn grins, and runs a thumb across my cheek. It sends shivers down my spine.

"Ahem," Dad clears his throat, "Mister Fabray, you'll have my baby home by curfew. And if you ever do anything to hurt her, I have a gun." Great. The pre date intimidation ritual Dad _always_ has to pull. Time for me to intervene.

"Da-ad..."

"No, Rachel, it's fine. He's just protective." Quinn turns to dad, "Yes sirs. Home by curfew. Got it."

Daddy whispers to Dad in a not so secretive way, "Hiram, I like this one. He actually has manners, not like that Flynn kid."

"Daddy, his name was Finn. And he was nice! I just decided that I didn't have a thing for six foot quarterbacks that are unintelligent and smell like feet." I felt like I had to defend Finn, even though he was my ex.

"I'm just kidding, honey. You kids go have fun." My dads practically push us out the door.

When we're outside, I turn to Quinn and say,

"Sorry about my fathers, they're just..."

"Protective. I get it. My dad was like that whenever my sister Fran brought any guy home. I think he's secretly relieved I like girls." I smile at Quinn for about the thousandth time in the last two days.

Quinn's car is an old Ford F150 with a light blue color scheme. Some of the chromeparts are a little rusted, but I find this charming for some reason. Finn's truck was old, but in the gross and messy kind of way. Quinn's is old in the vintage, retro chic way. He opens my door for me, and takes my hand as I climb into the passenger seat.

"Why thank you, my dashing night." I gush in an overly sweet and sappy tone. If Santana were here, she'd probably say something along the lines of 'you're so disgustingly sweet together, you're gonna give me cavities'.

"It is my pleasure, milady." Quinn bows, then quickly runs over to the driver seat and hops in gracefully. It takes a few turns of the key, but the truck finally starts up, and we peel out of my driveway and in the direction of Breadstix. Oh god. If he takes me to Breadstix, I will lose all faith in the idea that decent men exist.

"Where are we going?" I ask politely, crossing my fingers in my lap. Not Breadstix, not Breadstix.

"Oh, this little vegan café near Breadstix. It's pretty good." Faith in mankind, restored. Barbra knows how many dates Finn took me to Breadstix and how many salads I've eaten from there which is, by the way, the only vegan option there. Chopped up cabbage. Yay.

"Quinn, I have to say, I am thoroughly impressed. The gardenia, the chivalrous behavior and the vegan café? Even the fact that you remember where my house is from only one or two emergency Glee meetings." If Quinn blushes one more time, I will die. He's so adorable when he blushes.

"Well, Miss Rachel Barbra Berry, you are a special girl. And God, do you deserve to feel special. I fully intend to make you feel as amazing as you can possibly feel." Swooning. If I were a textspeak word, I'd be the jumbled letters. Quinn has essentially reduced me into a puddle. I'm so in love with him right now. I hope he feels the same way.


	4. The Date

**AN: Helloooo, here is chapter five, as requested, you greedy bastards. Kidding. I'm really, really sorry about the blatant Trans/homophobia in this chapter. Its incredibly integral to the plot, and it will happen again. I'm sorry. But I have to show R&Q that things aren't all sunny in LGBTLand. *whispers* and I also really like writing angst don't hurt me. In this chapter, we get 'The Date', some really offensive language, an antagonist and somefore Faberry fluff + kiss! Yay! I applaud any of you who were able to tell that the titles of the chapters were either music lyrics, song titles, or albums. This chapter's is Today by Smashing Pumpkins. I'm gonna shut up now because this AN is getting really , I give you, chapter five.**

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><p>Quinn was completely and utterly in love with Rachel. Once they arrive at the cafe, they were seated quickly into a booth by a window that looked out into the night. A waiter came by and lit the single candle in the centre of the table. He brought by a couple of menus and left promptly. Good. He's not one of those chatty waiters. They're awful to have on dates.<br>"So, Rach, what looks good?" Quinn asked casually, starting a conversation.

"Everything." The brunette had the same look in her eyes that appears whenever she really, really wants something. It's slightly unnerving, but it's also really, really attractive. At least, to Quinn. Quinn bets Pillsbury Dough Boy couldn't last five seconds under that gaze. It pierces right through your soul, making you scared out of your wits and incredibly turned on. Damn those teenage hormones.

"Especially me." Quinn winks.

"Oh stoppit Quinn! You're going to get an even bigger ego if you keep this up."

"Last time I checked you had the biggest big head in a fifty mile radius of Lima."

"Ugh, Quinn." Rachel groaned.

"You know I'm right."  
>The pair continued this playful banter until the waiter returned, asking for food orders.<p>

"I'll have the Caesar salad along with the lasagna." Rachel replied smoothly. Quinn could tell she felt liberated to not have to say, 'the vegan option of...' Before every dish or 'salad but nothing extra so just lettuce'.

"And I'll have the pizza, if you will."

"Thanks guys, your food will be out shortly." The waiter glanced around, as if he was nervous about something, "My supervisor told me to stop saying this, but you two make a great couple. My boyfriend is still too scared to go out to dinner with me." Rachel awwed and replied,  
>"Thank you. It means a lot. Don't ever stop saying that. And I hope it works out with you and your man..." Rachel glanced at his nametag, "Tristan."<p>

"Thanks, and same to you. Your guy here is definitley a keeper." The waiter smiled quickly, then rushed off.

"So, Rachel, where are you planning on going to college?" Quinn stated after the waiter left.

"Oh, I'm thinking of Juilliard and NYADA, although Juilliard is kind of the impossible dream. What about you?" Rachel said before sipping on her water.

"I don't know, really. I've been looking at Tracker School in Jersey for a while now, but I doubt that could give me a career."

"Well, what does this tracker school entail?" Rachel shot Quinn a quizzical look.

"Basically, education about nature, survival methods and the Native culture. It will look great on job alter for park tour guides and some nature museums. But the downfall is that it does not produce a college diploma, and I really don't want to waste my time with courses that don't interest me. But I also kinda need a diploma if I ever need a job other than being a park ranger." Quinn hated how complicated outer life was. He considered his nature time his real life. Outer life is just that thing that supports his real life. Where he belongs.

"That school sounds... Incredible. But, somewhat unattainable. Lucky for you, I have a proposition. Go to MSM, Manhattan School of Music during school year, and we can figure out a way to live in New Jersey in the summer. I assume that is when most of these courses take place." Of course, Rachel Berry would have a plan. She always does.

"I doubt I'll be good enough at guitar for this MSM..." Quinn frowned, but it quickly turned into his thinking face, "wait, we?"

"Yes! If you are to date me, it is imperative for you to know that I hate doing anything without a plan. I mean, we work so well... I just assumed... Are we dating?" Quinn laughed.

"Of course Rachel. These dates have been amazing, as well as you. I really enjoy your company as a friend, as well as a girlfriend." Rachel reached out with her tanned hand to Quinn's pale one and grabbed it.

"I am honoured to call you my boyfriend." Quinn's grin stretched so wide, he thought it would snap, like a rubberband.

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><p><span><strong>AN: TRIGGERING TRANSPHOBIA AND HOMOPHOBIA AHEAD PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY ANY SLURS, DEVALIDATION OF IDENTITY, ETC. IF YOU OPT OUT OF THE CHUNK THERE WILL BE A SUMMARY AT THE END. PLEASE SKIP TO THE NEXT BREAK IF YOU ARE ONE OF THESE PEOPLE. SERIOUSELY.<strong>

"Well well well, if it isn't the Bilbo Faggins and Dyke Barfham. Enjoying your date, losers?" Kitty Wilde with her perfect all American boyfriend and perfectly applied makeup and very, very revealing dress had to come and ruin the date. Quinn thought it was high time the bitch got off her high horse and started fighting her battles herself. Unfortunately, Rachel beat him to the punch.

"Miss Wilde, as much as we appreciate your derogatory, yet cleverly played insults referencing a literary character you have never read about and a 10/10 English soccer player -hotness and skill-, we don't. Would you mind taking your homophobia, transphobia and general bitchine-"

"Wait, transphobia?" Kitty screwed up her face, while Rachel moaned, realising what she had said, all during Quinn's internal panic attack of him being accidentally outed. Shit, shit, double shit. "So, _Fag Bono_, when'd you start falling under such delusions that you, _Lucy _Quinn Fabray, could ever become a "real man"? Because last time you got fucked, taking from reliable sources, you. Had. A. Pussy. As for you, RuPaul, tell your disgusting perverts of dads I said hi. While you're at it, tell yourself that."

"Don't you dare talk to my girlfriend like that. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever." Quinn growled. "And I am a real man. Im more of a man than your _boy_ over there is. I'm more of a man than him, the football team, hell, all the guys at McKinley. If your "boyfriend" over there was a man, he'd actually defend you when I say this. Rachel is more of a woman than you'll. Being a woman is being polite, kind, caring and self-empowered, which are traits that you don't have. Being a woman, or a man, or any gender isnt defined by your parts. Your slurs will never hurt either of us, so kindly," Quinn flipped her the birdie, "fuck off."

Kitty pondered the last few statements Quinn made. He could tell she was flustered.

"Whatever. I have fun at your little Freak Show, Dyke, RuPaul." Kitty motioned to her boyfriend, "Let's go, Josh. The freaks are tainting me."

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><p><em><strong>RACHEL<strong>_

Quinn let out a deep breath as he fell back into his seat.

"Wow. Just, wow. I can't believe that bitch came in and-" I cut him off.

"I'm so proud of you Quinn. I can't believe you stood up to her like that, and also defended me! You're my knight in shining armor."

"Thanks Rach. And hey, you're my girlfriend, boyfriends do that kind of thing. And the outing thing was... An experience... I forgive you. You were caught up in the moment. It just shows how much you've solidified my gender in your mind." Quinn smiled bashfully. He's so adorable when he does that.

"I am very glad you forgive me. You're the best boyfriend I have ever had." Quinn scoffed. "No, I'm serious. Noah was..? Noah. I was just a fling to him. Jesse St. James egged me after professing his un-love to me and betraying Glee Club. And Finn was, okay, don't tell anyone this, but unthoughtful, unromantic, unintelligent and just smelled really bad. Plus the angle of our heads when we kissed was exceedingly uncomfortable, as well as awkward. You are a vast, vast, improvement, Mister Fabray."

"Great. I beat out the town's manwhore, dickhead and resident giant. My confidence is through the roof." Quinn deadpanned.

"Quinn!" I slap him on the arm. "You're such a... A... A... Man!" I finally manage to sputter out. In my defense, I did not have time to properly form an insult. My insult wasn't even an insult.

"Wow, Rachel! I'm flattered by your compliment."

I groan.

"Okay, okay. Sarcasm, not your thing. I'll remember that."

I pout.

"Rachel, are you giving me the infamous Pout?"

I nod, still pouting. A grin is creeping up my face. Why does he have to be so charming and dreamy?

"Rachel Barbra Berry, are you giving me the silent treatment? I can't believe it. You are a sixteen year old woman, and pouting like a four year old."

Suddenly, I grab his tie and pull him across the table for a kiss. Mouth to mouth. His lips are moving over mine in a rhythmic pattern. Unlike Finn, he's an amazing kisser and isn't trying to suck my face off. I run my tongue on the bottom of his lip, asking for entrance. I could never do this with any other guy. They'd probably already be shoving their tongues down _my _throat, gross.

When we finally break off, I whisper in his ear huskily, "Would a four year old do that?"

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><p><em><strong>The Next Morning<strong>_

Quinn stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes raked over every inch of his body, fully naked. Assesing and judging. He glanced at his shoulders, which were broader than most biological female's were, They were also well muscled, from playing guitar and years of outdoor craft. They didn't bug him that much. He moved onto his breasts. His second least favourite body part. They were albeit, small, but still very there. He hated how they hung there, extra cancerous lumps he sure as hell did _not _want on his body. Quinn envisions male pectorals instead, gracing his upper chest with lean masculinity. It's so perfect in his mind, he can barely believe it is a very real possibility for himself. Next, his hips and abs fall under the scrutiny of his vision. Abdominals, not bad, he deems, although the slight dip inwards in his waist bugs Quinn. Hips are a whole different story. He hates how they jut out, just the slightest bit over the natural proportions of a male. It's so, so close to fixable, yet he doubts it ever will. Even testosterone can't change your bone structure.

The final piece of the hateful equation is the utterly smooth area directly below his stomach. He detests the area with a passion. Quinn should have standard male equipment there, not this girly flap of skin and a feeble patch of corse hair. He desperately hopes, wishes and dreams to wake up with a dick. Hell, he'd take morning wood, awkward erections, Finn's 'early arrival', _anything_, to feel complete. It hurts so, so, so much not to see what he wants in the mirror. Or when he looks down. Or when he catches a glimpse of himself in Blaine's ridiculously greased hair. Normality is so far away from Quinn, it's hard to remember its there.

Quinn pulls his gaze away from his _disgusting _reflection and gets dressed for school.

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><p>Quinn sits in the corner of the choir room, so terribly bored by all of these insufferable divas. Except for Rachel, of course. Her diva-ness was actually cute, and most certainly called for. Most of the time. Sometimes. A little bit. Even as her boyfriend, it's hard for Quinn to justify his little brunettes need for every solo, every number, every competition.<p>

"Fellow glee clubbers," Quinn perked up at the sound of Rachel's bright soprano, "I have a proposition to make." Indistinct groans and mutters chorus around the room.

"Guys," Schue interjected, "Give Rachel some respect. She's always quiet when you guys sing, it's your turn to be quiet for her." The man sounds like he's scolding third graders, Quinn thought to himself.

"When we _do _sing. Girlfriend gets _all _the solos. Not diggin on Rach, but I gotta mention it."

_Great. Mercedes barely saved her own skin after the last diva-off, Glee club really doesn't need another._

"Yeah," Santana spoke up, "how's come Little Miss Virgin Streissand gets all the good songs? If I hear her belt one more High F I'll go all Lima Heights on someone's ass, preferably Queen Diva."

"I thought your dad was Dr. Pepper. He fixed up my last catscratch. Arent doctors loaded, or something?"

"Not now Britt," Santana growled through her teeth.

"Guys, you're being really rude to Rachel! We'll discuss solos later, but right now Rachel has the floor. I'm disappointed." The Schue saves the day. Sort of. Quinn still thinks he's an idiot.

"Thank you Mr. Schuester. As I was saying, before I was so _rudely _interrupted," Rachel glances to Santana, who had to be restrained by Brittany, to avoid her going "All Lima Heights On Someone's Ass". Whatever that was, it was most likely a scary, gruesome homicidal whirlwind of pure Latina fury. Quinn, or anyone for that matter, did not want to be anywhere close when the day arrived. "I have a proposition for this weeks assignment." Mr. Schuester nods her on. Rachel smiles her glorious smile. Quinn wonders how the hell he got such a beautiful girlfriend, and on the first go, at that.

"I was thinking we could pair up with an instrumentalist,"

_Oh shit, Rachel. What the hell is she thinking?_

"And arrange a song that showcases their talent as musicians and our talent as singers in a harmonious and beautiful way."

_Fuck fuck fuck I'm screwed. I will be outed. Someone will stumble into the room when she's calling me her fucking boyfriend and then they'll blab to Jewfro and Karofsky or some jock will beat me to mush and make my life a living hell. Shit shit shit._

"Rachel, that sounds like an excent idea! It'll push everyone to go a little out of their comfort zone!" Quinn groaned internally. God, he loved Rachel, but accidental outing would be detrimental to his already zero social status, and get himself killed by the jocks. No thanks.

"This time, I'll trust you guys to pick your own partners. You're already going to work hard, I'll give you a little break." There went Quinn's last chance at sanity as well as life. He was basically screwed.

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><p><strong><em>RACHEL<em>**

"Rachel!" Kurt called to me in a singsong voice. I was over by my locker, just rearranging some things when he strutted over. I rather enjoy his company. Even though we are both major divas, we can diva together and not get in each others faces, unlike Mercedes or Santana and I.

"Kurt!" I called back.

"I am so excited for this weeks assignment! It will be fabulous."

"I know, I'm excited too. I've already laid claim on Quinn. You'd better not go anywhere near." I'm careful to avoid pronouns when speaking of Quinn. It feels like I'm betraying him, even though he can't hear me.

"Oh, the woodsy blonde guitarist? Cute, quiet, fashionable, If I wasn't dating Blaine... He's absolutely _adorable_. I wonder if he's bi... He seems like the type."

"Back off, Hummel, he's mine!" Kurt must think he's a biological guy. Quinn will be ecstatic to hear of this.

"Streissand's getting feisty! Do you, Miss Rachel Berry, have a crush on him?"

"it's more than a crush... We're kind of dating? But you can't tell anyone. Quinn wants to keep it quiet." I still avoid pronouns, just to be safe.

"You're a lucky girl. He better treat you right, or I'll have Blaine beat him up." I laugh.

"Kurt, Quinn's not going to hurt me..."

A figure stops and forms a triangle with Kurt and I around my locker.

"Hey Rachel, what're you guys talking about?" Barbra help me, Quinn's here.

"You." Kurt replies bluntly. He proceeds to advance onto Quinn, shoving their faces togther, "I was just saying that if you ever, ever do anything to hurt Berry, I will make my boyfriend hunt you down. Is that clear?" Quinn nods. Poor thing. "Good. With that being said, you sir are probably the second most sex-worthy boy at this school, behind Blaine of course." With a dramatic flourish, Kurt stalked off.

"What the hell, Rach?"

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><p><strong>AN: For those of you who skipped, Kitty was introduced as the antagonist (I had to. All the bitchy girls were either in Glee (aka niceish in this AU) or Quinn). She said a bunch of slurs, got told off by both Quinn and Rachel and left absolutely flustered. Score 1 for Faberry. I'm sorry if Kitty ends up wildly OOC, I haven't gotten to her part on Glee. This was really hard to write, because of the angst involving so much personal feeling, and switching right back into fluff mode. But, anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!<strong>

**Again, please review. It'll give you a new chapter *that* much sooner! Thank you all.**


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